Without a Trace
by M.B. Anchor
Summary: Aragorn is missing. Legolas sets out on a desperate quest to find his friend before it is too late. Little does Legolas know that he is about to discover more than he bargained for. Not only does it turn into a race to find Aragorn, but a race to uncover a plot that threatens to kill not just Aragorn and Legolas, but many others as well.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: PLEASE READ. IMPORTANT INFO BELOW.**

 **Welcome! For those of you who have been around a few years, you may recognize this story. I started writing _Without a Trace_ a couple of years ago but didn't finish it because I had to focus on college. My writing has improved since then, and I recently went to complete the story. After reading it, I decided to rewrite the entire story instead. Some things may or may not have changed. For the readers who remember the original story, please do not spoil anything for the new readers. Thank you.**

 **Without further to do, I present the new and improved Without a Trace! Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: Everything and all rights belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I lay claim only to my OC's: Eriphael and Mithelen (and all the other ones you haven't met yet).**

* * *

The sun's golden rays draped the blonde elf's proud shoulders. The few puffy white clouds that dotted the sky bore no promise of rain. Birds sang as they fluttered through the valley. A slight breeze caressed the travelers, and the air tasted sweet and soothing. Legolas brought his mare to a halt with a soft "cluck" at the top of a cliff.

He surveyed the scene below him with a smile. Lush, green life covered the Hidden Valley. The trees lazily rustled their new leaves back and forth. Blades of grass poked their heads out of the warm earth.

His keen ears registered the excited chatter of various creatures as they scampered around. A waterfall roared in the distance; a misty rainbow danced at the fall's bottom. Near the waterfall stood the heart of Imladris, the Last Homely House. He found himself drawn to its rustic beauty. Colorful flowers and trees adorned the house and its grounds. To the prince, its serenity promised much-needed peace and rest.

With a gentle nudge to the side of the mare, he eagerly maneuvered her towards the path into the valley. The escort of elves behind him followed their liege silently, for they did not wish to disturb the tranquility that surrounded them. Only the clip-clop from the horses' hooves echoed faintly on the rocks while the group made their way down.

Inhaling deeply, Legolas sniffed the nectarous aroma of the spring flowers. The scents of daisies, violets, buttercups, and tulips pleased his senses. He felt himself relax, as the pure warmth and touch of nature chased away the weary ache of travel from his bones. The bow, quiver, and knives strapped to his back didn't seem so heavy anymore. Tension from months of fighting and heartbreak slowly released its hold on him.

Glancing behind him, the prince observed his guard, all dressed in the same earthy green traveling garb, experience the same sensation. He watched the creases on their faces melt away.

The events in Mirkwood had pushed many hardened warriors to their limits; no more so than Legolas and his patrol. Hordes of spiders had become bolder, which caused them to attack more frequently than ever before. The beasts had captured and killed forest creatures, elves, and even several elflings.

Several Mirkwood patrols had set out to destroy the evil beasts before they could inflict more harm. The resulting battles were brutal. Two patrols did not return alive, and the spiders wounded numerous other elves.

It had been a grim day when they returned to the king's halls. He, Thranduil, and the other captains had put on brave faces when they informed the fallen elves' families of their loss, but Legolas remembered how on the inside he had just wanted to weep. The whole process left Legolas with a gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of his stomach.

There had been no rest for the weary. Orcs began ravaging the forest a little over a month after the fateful battle with the spiders. It took more than ten months to finish them all off. The elves finished off one legion of orcs only to be notified about a new orc pack in another part of the forest. The fights were bloody, gruesome, and lengthy. It seemed that for every orc they slew two more appeared. The elves had fought off orc raids in the past, but this year's attacks were just more savage and tougher to repel.

Despite the hardships, they continued to fight against the darkness as they always had. Three patrols saw the most action. Legolas' patrol was one of them. They paid dearly for it as the monsters gradually decimated them. Legolas helplessly watched friend after friend fall with each battle. When the fighting finally ended, half of the soldiers under the prince's command were dead, and Legolas was left weary in both heart and body.

It was evident to Mirkwood's king that his son needed time to heal. He quickly arranged for Legolas and the elves under his command to spend the summer in Imladris. Lord Elrond promised he would see to it that Legolas spent his time hunting, swimming, and relaxing. The prince's lips curled upward as he recalled how Thranduil had sent Legolas to Imladris with strict orders to have fun and not to get into too much trouble. He had proceeded to playfully ask his father to define trouble.

A voice broke off the firstborn's musings. "What are you smiling about?" questioned an elf as he pulled his horse up alongside Legolas' horse. A cheeky grin plastered his friend's face. Eriphael's facial features were fair to the eye, not sharp like those of some elves. Highlights of brownish gold streaked his braided, light brown hair. His green tunic contrasted with the bright green of his eyes.

Legolas shrugged nonchalantly, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" echoed the brown-haired elf. He quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I'm...just thinking of ways to get back at the twins for that prank they pulled the last time they were in Mirkwood."

Eriphael volunteered, "The one where they got all the captains drunk and blamed you for it?"

The prince groaned, "I forgot about that. No, I'm talking about the one where they dyed all of my clothes pink."

The archer snickered. "Pink is a good color on you. It certainly impressed the ellyn." Legolas shot him a withering glare, which caused Eriphael to let out another a laugh. "Well, don't expect me to assist you in your prank war. I would like to keep my dignity intact, thank you."

"So much for your oath to protect Mirkwood's royals," scoffed the blonde elf. "Well, at least Aragorn will aid me. He won't abandon me like some elves I know."

"Aragorn is here in Imladris?"

Legolas nodded with a grin, "Aye. He wrote me of his plans a couple of months ago. He is staying for two months."

"See," Eriphael pointed out, "the sides will be even. The two of you against Elladan and Elrohir. You don't need me."

"Don't think you're getting out of this so easily…" Suddenly, a frown appeared on Legolas' face. By this time, the group of elves was less than half an hour from arriving at Lord Elrond's doorstep. Perplexed, the prince glanced around.

"What do you sense, Legolas? What's the matter?" asked Eriphael, his hand hovered above the knives on his back, just in case.

The elf's frown deepened, "It is what I do not sense that troubles me. We should have been met by sentries by now." Legolas paused and closed his eyes. "Mellon, do you hear faint calls?"

The warrior focused his senses on the sounds in the valley. After a few seconds, he reported, "Aye, but I cannot make out the words. They sound distressed. It sounds like they are searching for someone."

Nodding his head in agreement, the prince called to the elves behind them, "Something is amiss. Be ready for anything."

Turning back to Eriphael, his countenance was no longer carefree, instead, it was vigilant. Unease clouded his blue eyes slightly. "Come, the sooner we reach Lord Elrond's, the sooner we can learn what's wrong and help." His second in command nodded grimly. With a sharp cluck of his tongue, Legolas urged his mare into a canter. The rest of the elves followed suit.

Within minutes, the group brought their horses to a halt in the courtyard of the Last Homely House. An elf wearing a scarlet tunic rushed out to meet them. He hastily adjusted his circlet and bowed low. "Mae govannen, Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood. It is an honor to host you and your company."

The blonde elf dismounted and returned the bow, "Hannon le, Erestor. The Elvenking of Mirkwood sends his greetings to Lord Elrond of Imladris."

He shrewdly noted Erestor's disheveled appearance, along with the bags under the elf's eyes. The nervous twitch of the advisor's fingers caught his attention as well. These further confirmed his suspicions that all was not well. Legolas glanced around. "Where is Lord Elrond? I wish to speak with him immediately."

Erestor cleared his throat. "He sends his regrets, but unfortunately he is not here at the present moment," apologized the advisor.

"What about Elladan or Elrohir? Can I speak with them?"

"I'm afraid they aren't here either. But, Lord Elrond has instructed me to welcome you and show you to your guest chambers..."

"Erestor, what's wrong?"

The advisor plastered on a smile. "It's nothing you need concern yourself with, Legolas. You came here to rest. Now, if you'll follow me..."

The prince reached out and stopped the brunette elf before he could take another step. He had spent enough time in his father's court to know when he was being put off. He made no effort to mask the concern that showed on his face. "Mellon, my company and I would assist where needed. We will not sit idly by when we can help. But, first, you must tell me what's happened."

"Yes, we heard search calls in the valley. Who is missing?" inquired Eriphael as he dismounted and came up behind his liege. "It must be someone important if you have the entire valley searching for them."

Legolas' stomach knotted at the truth of Eriphael's words. He had not thought about Lord Elrond or his sons missing. Impatiently, he waited for the advisor's answer.

Erestor paused as if he were trying to figure out what to reveal to them, which only fueled the prince's ire. He leveled Erestor with an icy look that showed he would not be deterred. The brunette firstborn thought he looked very much like Thranduil at the moment.

"Don't try coddling me, Erestor. You know I cannot rest if one of my friends is in danger." He gave the elf's shoulder an encouraging squeeze, "Now who is it? Lord Elrond? One of the twins? Estel?"

Erestor cringed almost imperceptibly at the sound of Estel's name. Legolas' heart plunged. "Aragorn is missing?"

"I'm afraid so," sighed the advisor wearily while he massaged his temple.

"How long has he been missing?" Eriphael asked.

"A week and a half."

Legolas' arm dropped to his side, and his brows knotted in confusion, "But, he told me in his letter he was supposed to arrive over three weeks ago."

"He sent us word last month that he would be delayed for two weeks and wanted to check on something. We've heard nothing since then."

"Nothing at all?" the prince questioned shakily, his head spun with worry. "What about the nearby towns? Or the rangers? Did he leave word or a clue with them?"

Erestor shook his head sadly. "None at all. Elladan and Elrohir rode out in search of him a few days ago. So far, they've found no trace of Aragorn. The rangers know as much as we do. He left no word with them either. When they last they saw him, he was headed in the direction of Imladris."

Legolas wanted to pull out his braids or kick something. If Aragorn wasn't dead, then he was going to kill him himself. Surely that thickheaded ranger knew better than to dive headfirst into danger and leave no hints about his whereabouts.

The elf clenched his fists and took a breath. Giving in to his anger and fear would not help the human. Instead, he needed to focus his efforts on forming a plan. "Where have you searched for him, Erestor?"

"Elladan and Elrohir, along with a few others, are searching the villages closest to Imladris. Both Lord Elrond and Glorfindel are leading search parties in the valley. We also sent word to the rangers and asked them to look near the Shire."

"All right, where have you not looked? My escort and I shall start there immediately."

Erestor held up a hand. He pinned the blonde elf with a glare of his own. "Pardon me, Legolas, but you will do no such thing."

The prince opened his mouth in protest, and Eriphael moved forward to challenge the advisor before Legolas stilled him. Erestor continued with a tone that held no room for argument, "You and your company will come with me and freshen up. Then you will dine and rest tonight. Tomorrow you can join the search."

Legolas and Erestor glowered at each other for several moments in a battle of wills. Finally, the archer lowered his gaze and sighed, "Erestor, I will find no rest until I know Estel is safe. I may as well use my time looking for him."

"I know you want to help, but you are no good to anyone exhausted," the advisor countered.

"I'm fine," Legolas argued. He knew the other elf was correct. The prince could feel weariness pull at his muscles, but his mind was clear. He was trained to handle this. Fatigue's weight could be ignored as long as his mind could function sharply.

Erestor eyed him skeptically. "As many times as I've heard those words from your mouth in the healing ward, I must say I don't believe you. There will be plenty of time to look for Aragorn tomorrow after you've rested."

The blonde firstborn growled, "That's just it! Estel doesn't have time! Something terrible must have happened to him. If he is not dead, he is probably out there dying somewhere. We need to find him, and we need to find him now! Ai!"

Legolas broke off his outburst and dragged a hand over his face. Eriphael grasped his shoulder in silent support, while Erestor waited patiently as Legolas regained control of his emotions. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," he apologized.

Erestor's eyes shone with understanding. "I know it's hard. We all care for Estel, but I care about your well-being as well. Please, if you will not rest for your own sake, then at least rest for theirs." He gestured to the elves behind Legolas.

He turned his head and surveyed his escort. The elves appeared stoic, ready to do their prince's bidding. Legolas knew better than to be fooled by their facade of tirelessness. The minute slump of their shoulders and the glassy sheen and pink specks in their eyes told him they were tired. They needed rest, though they would never say so.

The prince felt torn. His gaze unconsciously traveled to the horizon. Aragorn needed help, yet Legolas could not in good conscience ask his company to join the search as exhausted as they were. Erestor was right. He would have to find another way.

"Very well. We will rest tonight and begin searching at dawn," Legolas agreed.

Erestor exhaled with relief, "Good."

"Do you mind showing us to our quarters?"

"Of course," smiled the advisor. Approval radiated from his countenance. Legolas returned it with a weak smile of his own. Erestor beckoned towards the large steps, "This way."

The group dismounted, took their reins, and began to direct their horses towards the stable. The brunette elf stopped them with a chuckle, "Leave them. You are our guests. The stable hands will care for your horses." Almost like magic, several elves appeared and led the horses away. The Mirkwood elves readily followed Erestor into the majestic house. Legolas fell back behind the others though.

Pausing at the doorway, he looked cryptically out towards the valley and beyond. A concerned frown marred his face and his blue orbs flickered. The elf remained lost in thought for several moments until a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

He spun around to meet Eriphael. "Are you all right, mellon nin?" asked the archer.

The prince shrugged. "I will be better when Aragorn is found."

"I know," he nodded sympathetically. Eriphael tightened his grip in comfort. "We'll find him, Legolas. Aragorn is tough. He will come through whatever has happened. Don't give up hope just yet."

The blonde elf grasped the forearm of his companion. "I won't," he promised with his first sincere smile since they had arrived at the Last Homely House.

Eriphael urged, "Come on, we need to get ready or we're going to be late for the evening meal."

The prince waved him on. "You go on ahead. There's something I need to take care of before dinner." Legolas watched the archer's murky green silhouette fade down the hallway before he shifted his eyes towards the sunny horizon one last time. "Hold on, Estel, I'm coming," he murmured as he trotted up the last couple of stairs.

* * *

The crickets' chirping muted the booted footsteps that treaded along the hardwood floor. Sounds of deep breathing and soft snores filled the spacious, ornate room. The elf crept down the aisle between two long rows of beds. He had impatiently waited hours for the last elf in his escort to falls asleep.

Finally, he came to a stop next to a bed on the end. A brunette elf laid in the bed twisted in the sheets, with one arm under his pillow where a knife lay hidden. Noiselessly, Legolas placed a small note on Eriphael's bedside table and crossed to an open window on the other side of the room.

The firstborn vaulted onto the sill with ease. Taking one last look at his friend, the elf slid out the window. _He is going to kill me for this when he wakes up,_ he mused silently.

The prince carefully climbed down the house. His nimble fingers and feet skillfully maneuvered the network of vines wrapped along the wall. The thick, silky vines held his weight easily.

Within the span of a minute, he reached the ground. Legolas jumped the last few feet and landed smoothly. He immediately melted into the shadows. The last thing he wanted was to get noticed and alert the sleeping elves above him to his escape.

Several moments passed while he scanned the area. Ensuring himself there was no one to see him, he broke out in a sprint towards the stables. His bow, arrows, and pack lightly slapped his back as he ran.

No one noticed the shadow reach the stables. The wooden door gave a yawning creak when he opened it but fell silent as he slid inside. Blue eyes adjusted to the gloomy blackness that greeted him. The hay's musty smell tickled his nose. Resisting the urge to sneeze, Legolas strode down the long line of stalls.

His blonde head peeped over each stall in search of his mare. The horses barely acknowledged him pass, and contentedly munched on the grass in their large troughs. In the middle of the row, he tossed his plan aside with a huff. "Mithelen, where are you?"

A gray horse peeked her head out of an end stall. Legolas grinned, "There you are!" She whinnied in response. The elf's grin flopped into an anxious frown, and he rapidly tapped his finger against his lips. "Shhhh! Mellon nin," he hushed, "We don't want to wake the stable hands."

The horse gave him a questioning look but quieted down obediently. In a flash, he swung open the stall's door and entered. She greeted him with a playful nudge. After patting her head in return, Legolas removed her saddle from the wall.

"I hope you're rested." Mithelen wagged her head. "Good, because we've got a long journey ahead. Aragorn is in trouble, I can sense it." He placed the saddle on her back. "We need to find him fast. I fear it may already be too late." He secured the straps and caressed her neck, "Can I count on you, mellon?"

She nuzzled him, and the prince smiled into her mane. "Hannon le, Mithelen." The conversation fell silent as he readied her for travel.

Minutes later, Legolas strapped his pack on the back of the saddle. He hastily checked his supplies and weapons one final time out of habit. "Everything's here and ready," he whispered, pleased. Taking the mare's reins, the elf led her from the stall.

Upon leaving the stable, Legolas effortlessly swung into the saddle. With a cluck of his tongue, they were off. Soon the inky night swallowed him and the mare as they headed up the path that exited Imladris. Little did Legolas realize that the darkness of the night was nothing compared to the evil darkness he would soon discover.

* * *

 **Author's Note: And so it begins...**

 **Feel free to share your thoughts in a review (as long as they're NOT spoilers or flames)! Thanks!**

 **~M.B.**


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you to all who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story. You honor me and I appreciate it more than you know!

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tolkien. I only own my OC's Eriphael, Mithelen, and Delhir (and all the other ones you haven't met yet).

* * *

The blackness started to fade as consciousness took its place. He gasped as water splashed his forehead. Drip. Drip. Drip. The droplets fell from a jagged edge above him. Their source came from a steady trickle of water that meandered down the dank, rock wall he was slumped against.

A fog enveloped his mind. His head pulsed with his heartbeat. The last thing he remembered was cracking it after being hurled against the wall. With a groan, Aragorn tried to focus on his surroundings, but his vision swam.

A wave of nausea slammed him, and he quickly shut his eyes to still the sea. _I think I'll just keep my eyes closed for now_ , he concluded silently. It didn't really matter because darkness engulfed everything around him. It was the kind of darkness that could make even the stoutest of hearts despair.

The human shivered. His tattered tunic provided little protection from the cold, and the rough ground was icy to the touch. Aragorn could feel the cold seep into his bones, which caused them to ache. He longed for warmth. He longed for home. He longed for freedom. But, alas, he was trapped.

Aragorn wanted to move. He wanted to get away from the slimy water that dashed his face and find a warmer spot. Summoning his resolve, Aragorn used his shoulders to push himself away from the wall. He bit back a cry as his body quaked with exertion. It was too much.

With a gasp, he fell back against the wall as pain flared within him. His broken ribs burned, and each breath scratched his parched throat. The bruises that dotted his body throbbed. He could feel blood oozing from his lacerations.

"So much for that," he muttered between shaky breaths. The ranger leaned into the wall and sighed. The best thing he could do was rest and regain his strength. He would need it if he was going to survive.

* * *

He was deep in the confines of sleep when he sensed a hand draw near. Battle-honed reflexes reacted even before he was fully awake. In a flash, his fingers curled around the knife under his pillow and lashed out at the presence.

A "clash" sounded as steel hit steel. Yet, the blade just held his knife, as a hand gently pried it away from his own. "Easy now, it's just me," uttered a disembodied voice.

Eriphael's bleary eyes slowly made out a tall, lithe form in the dark. "Legolas?"

"No," the voice answered, "it's Delhir."

Now, Eriphael could see the other elf's auburn hair. The elf's face looked anxious. Still, the brunette elf could not find it within himself to match his companion's concern. He was tired, and he hated mornings. Based on the cricket's chirping and very pale rays of dawn, he could still grab a few more minutes of sleep before Legolas had them all up searching for Estel. Eriphael waved him away. "Mmm...leave me alone. Whatever it is, go talk to Legolas," he mumbled groggily as he draped the covers over his head.

"Wait, Eriphael!" The auburn-haired archer shook the other's shoulder firmly.

The second in command lifted the covers. "What?!" he growled.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he's missing."

Green eyes flew wide awake. Eriphael was on his feet in an instant. He grabbed Delhir's nightshirt, "What do you mean he's missing?!"

Delhir remained unfazed by Eriphael's ferocity. He had expected it. This is why he and the other elves had drawn straws to decide who would wake Eriphael and deliver the news. "He's gone. We can't find him anywhere."

The warrior sank down onto the bed and swore as he ran his hands through his tangled hair. He looked back up at the archer in front of him, "You've looked everywhere in the house?"

"Aye," reported Delhir wearily, "Nyriel and Ulöden are finishing the search now. Ulöden discovered him missing when he woke up."

"What about the stables? Is his horse gone?"

The auburn-haired warrior shook his head, "We haven't checked there yet."

"I bet you a barrel of dorwinion his horse is gone," he muttered grimly. "I'm going to kill him." Eriphael slammed his fist on a pillow, "Ai! I should have known he'd do something like this. The king will have my head if anything happens to him!"

Delhir clapped his friend's shoulder, "This isn't your fault. We'll find him."

The second-in-command dragged a hand over his face, "Yes, but how?"

The archer looked around as if searching for an answer. A white note caught his eye. His blue eyes peered closer, "Is that Legolas' handwriting?"

Eriphael rapidly followed Delhir's eyes to the stand beside him. He snatched the folded parchment and opened it like a hungry cat devouring a mouse.

"What does it say?"

Several moments passed as the green eyed firstborn peered at it hard. "I...I...don't know."

"What do you mean?" Delhir leaned in for a look and scanned the elegant script. His eyes widened, and he swore under his breath, "He didn't…"

"He did," Eriphael deadpanned. Sucking in a breath, he flung the paper on the floor, "Now I'm really going to kill him!"

* * *

Flaming orange rays glistened in his eyes. Legolas shaded them as he watched the sun creep over the horizon. He was encouraged by the absence of a red sunrise. No blood had been spilled that night; there was hope for Aragorn yet.

Sighing, the elf rubbed his mare affectionately as sticky lather coated his hand. They had been riding hard all night. It was time to give his horse a well-deserved rest.

Sharp eyes looked ahead for a spot. A brook bubbled through the landscape several yards away. Lush grass blanketed the ground around the bank and several young trees offered shade. It looked inviting to both rider and mare. Gently, he tugged the reins and slowed Mithelen into a walk. "Just a little further, mellon nin," he murmured as the firstborn directed her towards an area with plenty of dew-drenched grass.

When they came to a halt, Legolas gracefully slid off the saddle. The elf crooned softly to his tired mare as he began to methodically remove her bridle. Her sides heaved, but she whinnied gratefully. A smile spread across her master's face. He patted her neck, "No, hannon le, Mithelen. You've born me a great distance this night."

Mithelen started to graze, while the prince ambled over to a willow a few feet away. He shrugged off his weapons and let them drop to the ground. With a grunt, he settled against the trunk.

The rough bark felt oddly comforting against his back. His fingers strayed to stroke it, and he relished the life that sparked beneath his touch. Suddenly, his eyelids felt heavy. Legolas exhaled slowly, "We will rest here. We've put enough distance between us and the others." He snickered softly to himself, "I took great pains to delay them for awhile."

At his words, Mithelen's head, which was hovering over a patch of grass, shot up with a disapproving snort.

Legolas quirked an eyebrow at her, barely able to contain his amusement. "What? I didn't do anything terrible," drawled the elf.

His mare merely huffed.

"I left them a note of my plans..." Blue eyes twinkled as he watched his companion deflate in relief. Oh, she was going to enjoy this next part. "...I just wrote it in an ancient language they can't understand," he chuckled mischievously. He had used one of the oldest language books in Elrond's library.

The mare neighed with alarm and displeasure. She glared at her master in a horse-like manner. Legolas held up his arms, "Hold your horses! Valar, you're acting just like ada!"

Mithelen continued to stare at him. Legolas folded his arms and shook his head with a smile, "Don't worry, mellon. They can decipher it after they find the book I used. Or Lord Elrond can translate it for them."

After a moment, the horse gave another snort and went back to eating. The elf leaned against the trunk as he closed his eyes in thought. Eriphael and the rest of his escort were probably having a fit at the moment. It was only a matter of time before they followed him. The elves in his company possessed every bit of the renowned stubbornness the Woodland elves were known for. They would chase after him relentlessly until they caught up with him.

Legolas shifted. He felt bad about leaving them behind, but it was necessary. Something about Estel's disappearance didn't sit well with him. He could feel it in his gut. The ranger wouldn't just disappear. Somebody knew something, and the prince needed stealth to uncover it.

On one of their hunting trips, Aragorn had once told him the best way to observe humans and gather intelligence was to not draw attention to oneself. To find information about Aragorn, Legolas needed to remain as inconspicuous and unthreatening as possible. A group of elven warriors would only draw attention he didn't need. It was best if he searched alone. Besides, the elf was confident he could handle it; he was no stranger to danger.

The gurgling water drew his attention. The prince got up and made his way over to the bank.

Kneeling down, he splashed his face. The cold water's sting felt refreshing and made him more alert. Legolas filled the flask from his belt and took a long drink. Invigorated, he sat down again to review his plans.

"If I were that crazy human where would I be?" he pondered out loud. He was not in Imladris, that much was certain, or they would have found him. No, Estel was either in the Shire, in some village, or in the wilderness.

The rangers were scouring the Shire, which was good because the archer would have had a hard time blending in there. So, that left the wilderness or towns. _Valar_ , Legolas prayed the ranger wasn't lost in the wilderness. There were leagues and leagues of land he couldn't possibly cover in a timely manner. If he was in the wild, the elf hoped Aragorn had left some clue in a village.

Last night, he had asked Erestor to show him all the towns they had already searched. From what he surmised, the twins had started with the six establishments closest to Rivendell and worked their way out.

One town, in particular, had caught the prince's eye. Bree was the farthest away, almost a five-day ride from Imladris. Yet, Legolas recalled Aragorn mention the town once or twice in conversation. The human could have gone there. Even if he didn't find anything in Bree, he could work his way back and meet Elladan and Elrohir in the middle. One of them had to find the ranger.

The archer's gaze shifted to Mithelen, who sipped water from the brook. She was strong and fast enough to reach Bree in three and a half days instead of five. Still, it felt like three days too long.

Legolas plucked the grass in frustration. Part of him wanted to mount Mithelen and gallop non-stop to Bree. But, that was foolish. He needed to be patient. He couldn't afford to make mistakes because of hasty decisions.

Legolas balled his fists and sighed. Just like Eriphael said, Legolas had to trust Aragorn's skill and the Valar to keep him alive. They would rest a while longer and then ride toward Bree.

* * *

Three days later a strong gust of wind whipped around the elf and his mare as he brought her to a halt. The sunny weather had disappeared; now angry clouds hid the sun from view. The trees creaked around them. Mithelen shied slightly. "Steady, now," he murmured. She grew weary, and he felt a slight tremble run through her body. Legolas glanced around the wooded area. It appeared safe enough to stop. Dismounting, he led her toward a group of thick trees that would shelter the two from the biting wind.

The prince ran his fingers through the tangles in her mane. "I've pushed you hard these last few days, haven't I?" Legolas mused softly. "Take some rest, mellon. You deserve it."

Mithelen nuzzled her master, who returned it with a fond pat on her nose and smile. She proceeded to lean down to graze. The firstborn began to untie one of the leather pack from her back. The pack landed on the ground with a quiet "thud."

Legolas plopped down on the leaf-littered ground and started to rummage through it. Mithelen watched out of the corner of her eye as he pulled out a dingy, dark cloak. Next, the archer brought out a pair of black pants. A coarse tunic of smoky gray and a faded brown vest followed. Finally, he sat a leather belt down on the ground beside him. The mare gave a nicker of curiosity. Legolas looked up. "Hmm?"

She motioned at the stack of clothing. "This? This is Aragorn's," answered the elf casually. A pleased expression spread over his face. "I raided his dresser before I left. I didn't know what I would need, and I have found one can never be too prepared when it comes to Aragorn."

The mare snorted in agreement. Her curiosity satiated; she went back to eating.

Legolas took off his weapons and undid the laces on his tunic. In one fluid motion, he pulled off his green tunic and shirt. The air pricked his bare chest. He wasted no time in shrugging on the gray tunic and vest.

Five minutes later, he fastened the cloak around his shoulders. The prince turned around and asked his companion, "There. How do I look?" Mithelen gave him a funny look as she glanced him over.

"You're wondering why I'm wearing Aragorn's clothes?"

She wagged her head and waited expectantly for an answer.

"Estel told me how the men of Bree are distrustful of outsiders. I need to gain their trust. Blending in with them will help me gain it. That, mellon nin, is why I'm dressed as a man."

Legolas slouched his shoulders slightly and struck a relaxed pose, "Do I look like a human?"

Drawing close to her master, she nipped at his warrior braids.

"What?" he asked as swung his braids away from Mithelen's teeth. Blue orbs suddenly lit up in understanding. "Oh, I forgot. Humans are far more unkempt than elves."

With a sigh, he moved to undo them. The wind swept his hair around his face as he unwound each braid carefully. Blonde strands tickled his nose and cheeks. Annoyed, Legolas blew the pesky strands away from his face. A horsey laugh escaped his mare. He glowered at her. At least, the long hair hid his ears from view. "What about now?"

Mithelen shook her head, and pawed at the dirt on the ground.

"No! I'm not doing that."

The mare huffed.

Several moments passed before, Legolas relented. "Fine." He pointed at her, "Not a word, whinny, or anything, to anyone about this. If Ada, Eriphael, or any elf for that matter, found out about this...I'll never live it down."

Gulping, his hand lingered over the ground. "The things I do for that human," he muttered. The prince scooped up a handful of dirt and rubbed it over his face, arms, and hands. I _swear, if Aragorn ever calls me prissy again, I'll kill him_.

A light drizzle of rain began to fall as he finished the grubby disguise. A flick of his hand pulled the cloak's hood over his head. The elf didn't want to look like a muddy, wet rat. "I'm finished," Mithelen nodded her head approvingly. "We will continue on when you are ready."

Legolas bent down and picked up his weapons. He strapped on his bow and quiver. Men did not wear their blades on their backs. His twin blades and their sheaths clinked slightly as he relocated them to the belt around his waist.

Suddenly, a branch snapped nearby. Elven ears tracked the noise despite the howling gusts. "That is no animal!" He spun around towards a large, leafy oak fifty yards away. An arrow suddenly materialized and sailed straight at him. Legolas whipped out his bow as the missile flew above his head and thunked into the trunk behind him. _A warning shot._ Faster than the eye could follow, he nocked an arrow to his bow. Steely eyes hungrily sought his target. "Show yourself!"

* * *

Author's Note: Things are getting messy...

Reviews are appreciated and welcomed!

~M.B.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tolkien. I only own my OCs.

* * *

The misty rain blurred the forest background, but he easily zeroed in on his target. A robust figure in a hunter green cloak stood behind the oak. The firstborn's heart beat faster as he loosed his own warning shot at the figure. Legolas reloaded his bow in half the time it took for his arrow to whisk over the other's head.

Seeing that his hiding spot was compromised, the hooded figure stepped out from behind the tree with an arrow aimed at the elf's heart. Blue orbs narrowed calculatingly. The bow shifted so that the prince's arrow would intercept his foe's arrow or kill him. The slight release of his slim fingers would end the human's life before he knew what hit him.

The archers stared at each other, waiting. Finally, the man called out in a gravelly voice, "Are you friend or foe?"

"I could ask the same of you!" The elf retorted steely. "I shall harm you only if you try to harm me."

The human's thick brows knitted together. Suspicion lingered in his tone. "Who are you? What business do you have in this part of the forest?"

The prince's mind raced for an answer. Legolas was an elven name. He needed one that would not give away his human disguise. Quickly, he settled on a suitable name. "I am Leian, son of Thandal. I'm traveling to Bree to visit a friend."

The man studied him for several seconds before he released the tension on his bow. Legolas did the same, but he remained wary.

"I'm Oren, son of Orion," the figure responded as he lowered his bow. "Forgive me, I mistook you for a brigand."

"There is nothing to forgive," Legolas replied. He returned the arrow to his quiver and watched Oren do the same. Shrewdly, he noted the dagger and long hunting knife attached to the man's belt. "What are you doing out here, Oren?"

"I came out here to hunt," Oren pulled his cloak tighter around his broad shoulders, "but it seems this weather has scared all the game away."

The prince let his senses drift out to the woods around him. The man was right. Besides the wind, rain, and a few birds, the world around him was largely quiet. Most of the creatures were hidden away from the elements. It appeared Oren was telling the truth, so Legolas relaxed slightly.

A meaty hand waved the elf over. "Come, Master Leian. We can travel to Bree together. It's safer this way." He pointed to a clump of trees fifty yards away, "My horse is just beyond those trees over there."

Legolas shot a look at his mare; Mithelen shook her head with a snort. He felt inclined to agree with her. It could be a trap. He did not know Oren. For all he knew, this man could be an outlaw in conspiracy with other bandits, waiting to waylay him up ahead.

Unease swelled in his stomach. Reason and his training urged him to decline the offer and travel on alone. Yet, he couldn't ignore the possibility that Oren could provide him with valuable information. Oren's words about brigands and safety hinted at trouble in these parts. It could be the very trouble that Estel had set off to investigate.

The prince suppressed a sigh. He would take the risk for his friend's sake. Plastering a small smile on his face, Legolas grabbed Mithelen's reins and walked forward. "Thank you, Oren. I appreciate the offer."

Oren grinned and clapped a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "No need to thank me. These are troubling days; we must stick together." He then spun around and treaded to where his horse waited. Legolas followed behind him.

The elf raised a brow when the man began to whistle a light tune. Oren seemed unconcerned despite his talk of trouble. However, the human's tight grip on his bow and occasional glances around signaled that he still remained aware of his surroundings. Legolas' apprehension abated minutely and he figured Oren's whistling was a sign of confidence rather than ignorance.

The "crack" of a tree branch set the prince's senses on high alert. Blue eyes searched the area for any signs of attack. His right hand hovered near the knife strapped to his hip for the rest of the way.

To his surprise, they reached Oren's black horse without encountering any problems. Legolas breathed a visible sigh of relief. In spite of his initial reservations, the man was trustworthy after all.

"Are you all right, son?" asked the hunter, with concern etched on his face.

"Oh...yes," Legolas stammered. "I'm just tired, I guess," he hurriedly offered with a genuine smile.

Oren nodded in understanding. "Let's hurry to Bree then, before this dratted rain soaks us to the bones."

The two climbed into their horses' saddles and started the ride to Bree. Legolas studied the human as they rode. Strands of gray, shoulder-length hair escaped his hood. Yet, he was not very elderly by human standards, for only a few lines were carved on his weathered face. If he had to guess, the elf would say Oren was between fifty and sixty years old. A dim twinkle shone in his brown eyes.

Oren shuddered and pulled his cloak tighter against the chill. Legolas did the same to protect himself from the rain. The scratchy material of Aragorn's wet clothing stuck to his skin. It took considerable restraint to resist the urge to scratch and tug at the infernal human clothing.

A gravelly voice cut through the silence. "So, Leian, where are you from?" the man questioned good-naturedly.

"I live near the Misty Mountains."

Oren whistled through his teeth. "You've traveled a long way."

"Indeed." Legolas rubbed his neck and chuckled, "I'm beginning to feel every league of it too."

"I can imagine," the hunter grimaced sympathetically. He looked the elf up and down. "I'm surprised your father would let you travel so far alone. You look too young to make such a journey by yourself."

It was all he could do to contain his laughter. The man could not be more wrong about his age. Legolas just shrugged nonchalantly, "My father trusts me. He knows I can handle myself."

Oren declared, "Well you certainly know how to handle a bow."

"I learned how to use one as soon as I was big enough," the prince stated soberly.

"That seems mighty young to give a child such responsibility."

"Mmm," he murmured. Legolas swiftly quashed the sadness and the what-ifs that threatened to well up inside him. He was a warrior, a prince, and Mirkwood needed him. How could a simple hunter truly understand that? The elf decided to change the conversation's course.

Pretending to glance around with apprehension, Legolas questioned, "Earlier you mentioned these were troubling days. What did you mean? Should I be concerned?"

The man rubbed his whiskers, and sighed heavily, "Well, you see, Leian, some people in these parts have fallen on hard times. Winter came early this year and was harsher than normal."

"That's unfortunate."

"Aye, it was. That wasn't the worst of it though. Last fall a wildfire destroyed a nearby town and the woods surrounding it."

The prince's heart clinched for the people's loss and the woods. He shook his head somberly. "I'm sorry."

Oren got a far off look on his face as he continued, "The people who survived were left with nothing to help them survive the winter. Those who did…well…they turned to what some would consider more vile means in order to provide for themselves."

Legolas' ears perked up at these words. "What type of means, Oren?"

"They steal from farmers' barns, rob people on the road. Sometimes they even kidnap people and hold them for ransom."

The elf's stomach soured. These outlaws could have had something to do with his friend's disappearance. If they did, it did not bode well for Estel. "Do you know who these men are? Does anyone do anything to try and stop them?"

"No, I don't," Oren shook his head, "A few tried, but they either disappeared or were killed."

"What about the rangers?"

"You mean those dark, mysterious men from the North who call themselves rangers?" Oren scowled. "We rarely see them around. Even if they were, I wouldn't trust them to help us. If you ask me, those rangers are a greater threat to us than the outlaws are."

The man's view of the Rangers of the North heated the blood in Legolas' veins. How could the human be so ignorant and ungrateful of all the unseen sacrifices Aragorn and his rangers made to protect the Breelanders? The elf reluctantly bit back a stream of words in his friend's defense. It wouldn't do to blow his cover now.

"You look upset. Did I say something wrong, Leian?"

Legolas inwardly chided himself for revealing his true emotions. He shouldn't have let his façade of indifferent curiosity slip so easily. "It troubles me no one is helping these people. Someone should do something," he explained in hopes of covering his real feelings.

Oren gave him a hard look and then pulled his horse to a stop. "I see the glint in your eyes, Leian. Promise me, you won't do anything foolish. Leave the outlaws alone. Stay away from them, and the rangers too."

"Oren..."

The hunter quickly held up a hand and interrupted, "I apologize, I was out of line. I have no right to tell you what to do. I just don't want you to get hurt, is all."

Legolas' irritation dissipated. "I understand. Don't worry, Oren, I won't," he reassured the man.

He wagged his head approvingly. "Good. I'd hate to see anything happen to you."

"So would I."

* * *

The rain had finally stopped, and the sun's rays slowly dipped below the horizon by the time the pair reached Bree. Their horses wearily slogged through the sticky mud to the center of town. Blue eyes soon spotted a distinct horse sign in the mix of buildings.

Legolas turned to Oren, "Thank you for the company, Oren. I'm afraid I must leave, and find my friend."

"I see." The man's face dampened, but then brightened, "But before you go, please, join me for supper."

The elf hesitated. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"Nonsense! It's the least I can do for almost putting an arrow through you earlier."

"And your wife wouldn't mind?" asked Legolas, "Surely she isn't expecting me."

Oren's countenance fell once more, and his mouth contorted as he searched for words. Finally, they came out in a jumbled mess, "Um...no she wouldn't...she's um...well she, and my daughter died several months ago."

Heat flushed his fair face as the elf stammered, "Oh, forgive me. I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay, son," Oren smiled shakily, "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known."

The hunter then pointed to the Prancing Pony Inn, "I was thinking we could warm ourselves up with some drink and stew. What do you say? Food and drinks on me."

His blunder and the dull ache in his stomach caused Legolas to cave. He grinned, "Food and drink would be most welcomed. Thank you, Oren."

"Anything for you, my friend. Come, let's go enjoy Bree's finest brew!" the man boomed. Oren signaled to the stable boy across the street, and he gave him a couple of coins with the instructions to care for the two horses.

Within minutes they had dismounted and made their way over to the inn. Oren easily pushed the thick door open. Noises and smells immediately assaulted Legolas' senses as he entered. He resisted the urge to cover his ears at the loudness. People of all shapes and sizes crowded the main room. The pungent smell of sweat and body odor stung the elf's nose. Smoke from various pipes and the roaring fire in the hearth threatened to choke him.

It took every ounce of his resolve to stay in the room and let Oren steer him to an empty table in the far left corner. Elf and man sat on opposite wooden benches.

"Barliman! Bring us two bowls of stew and two pints of your best mead!" the hunter instructed an overweight, balding man.

Barliman brought the mugs of ale out first. Oren flashed a smile and raised his drink, "To your health, Leian."

"And to yours as well," declared Legolas as he returned the gesture. He lifted the drink to his lips. While his human companion drank deeply, the archer gulped his gingerly. His lips began to curl into frown from the brew's flavor, but he quickly suppressed it.

Luckily, Oren took no notice. A stream of ale meandered down his chin. _He drinks like a dwarf!_ the elf mused.

"Ahh...that hits the spot!" Oren placed his empty cup on the smooth surface of the table. "Doesn't it?"

Legolas faked pleasure with a dip of his head and mumbled, "Aye."

The innkeeper plunked down two bowls before them as he passed. Wisps of steam danced above the stew and brown pieces of venison floated tantalizingly. The gamey smell made Legolas' stomach growl with hunger. He devoured the bowl's contents eagerly.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck prickled, and a chill ran down his spine. The elf recognized the reaction from centuries of fighting. It was the feeling he always got when he was being watched.

Inconspicuously, his gaze shifted around the room. He honed in on a figure who stared at them from the other side of the room. The man's garb didn't identify him as a ranger. His countenance was stormy, and his eyes were eerily piercing.

Legolas looked back at Oren. Between bites of stew, he whispered, "Oren, there is a man across the room who keeps staring at us. Do you recognize him?"

A couple of seconds passed before the hunter casually turned his head towards the other side of the room. Oren peered at the sour-faced man. After a moment, the prince detected what he thought was a growl leave the hunter's lips, "I know him. His name is Ahneus. I...owe him money."

"Is that why he won't stop looking at us?" Something flickered in Oren's eyes. Anger? Annoyance? Legolas wasn't sure.

"I'm afraid so." He sighed heavily, "It looks like he has chosen now to collect on my debt. Ahneus is not a patient man."

The elf glanced back at Ahneus again. "Do you want some assistance?" he offered.

"No, no. I don't want you wrapped up in this. Thank you though." The hunter reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a couple of coins. "I'm sorry, Leian. This is not how I wanted our meal to end. Here, this should cover the food and drink."

"There is no need to apologize." Legolas held out his hand, "I'm glad we met. I wish you luck."

The man clasped the hand and shook it heartily. "Thank you. I too am glad our paths crossed. I only wish they didn't end here. Take care of yourself, son."

"I will."

Oren lifted his mug, took a deep gulp, and then stood. His face hardened as he squared his shoulders. With a parting smile, he made his way over to where Ahneus sat.

Legolas watched the pair out of the corner of his eye as they began talking. He attempted to hear their conversation, but they were too far away to discern the conversation over the din.

The prince knew that he shouldn't be watching Oren like he was a helpless elfling. Still, something about Ahneus' surly manner bothered him. A sheathed dagger rested near his hand like the man expected trouble. Legolas could only trust that Oren knew how to handle himself if the conversation went south. The elf had more important things to focus on.

He turned his attention back on finding news about Estel. Shutting his eyes, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. Fingers lightly drummed the half-empty mug in his hand. His senses focused on every aspect of the stuffy environment in search of anything that would help him find the ranger.

A myriad of sounds swept through his eardrums. The floor creaked as people danced and sauntered across it. Tankards clanked against each other. Fists and hands pounded the table in response to jokes or arguments. Garbled song lyrics hung in the air, along with the chorus of laughs, burps, and gossip the humans and hobbits emitted.

Legolas strained to discern words. Some farmers discussed the rainfall, while a large group of several men and a middle-aged woman traded drunken, exaggerated stories. The hobbits, between puffs of Longbottom weed, chatted about the jovial things they did during springtime. Several of the inn's occupants only muttered and stuttered incoherently as they gulped down mug after mug.

The prince massaged his temples. All the conversations he eavesdropped on consisted of meaningless chatter and brought him no closer to finding his friend. _Oh, Estel_. With a huff, he sucked down a gulp of ale. His face contorted slightly at the sour flavor.

Abruptly, he caught the utterance of a name. "Ahneus is…" In the span of seconds, Legolas centered his attention to four rugged men lounging at a benched table in the center of the room. Their voices were lowered, but the elf could still make out some of their words out. A male with rust-colored hair and a scraggly beard continued to speak, "the leader. Stop worrying. Our plan will soon be ready to carry out."

The presence of a slow, jolly voice interrupted Legolas' concentration. "Can I get you more ale, Master...uh...what is your name.?"

Looking up at the rosy-cheeked innkeeper, the prince replied, "Leian." His hand shot out faster than lightning to cover his tankard as Barliman went to refill it. "No, thank you. I've had enough."

"Oh...very well, Master Leian, I get it. When you've had enough, you've had enough. Let me know if you need anything."

"Wait!" Legolas grabbed Butterbur's pudgy arm when as he turned to leave, "Master Barliman, I'm looking for a ranger named Strider. Has he been here in the last month?"

"Hmmm...Strider...Strider…" Butterbur mumbled as he stroked his whiskers. "Oh yes! He's that ranger who stops by and keeps to himself. It's true what they say, you know, you never can tell what them rangers are up to."

Biting back his impatience, the elf prompted, "Have you seen him recently?"

"Aye, I have. He came in here...a little over...two weeks ago," the innkeeper replied. A rowdy group of customers shouted for more drink. "Excuse me, I should go see to that. Do you need anything else?"

"I'm fine. Thank you. You have been most helpful." He handed the coins to the man. "This is for mine and my friend's meal."

With a word of thanks, Butterbur ambled off to go refill orders. Noticing that the suspicious men were still talking, Legolas concentrated on their words once again. One of the four asked the others, "How long do you think he'll last?"

A wiry man with a pocked face cackled, "It's only a matter of time before Gresit breaks him."

The human with rust-colored hair grumbled. "If Gresit doesn't kill him first. The ranger would be better off just giving Gresit what he wants. He's a fool to resist."

Legolas' heart froze. They mentioned a ranger! It had to be Aragorn, he was the only ranger missing. His hand moved to the knives secured at his side. An icy fury settled on him like a shroud. The elf ached to leap up, attack the men, and force them to tell him where his friend was being held prisoner.

But wisdom stayed his hand. He didn't know if the men had allies in the inn. Legolas weighed the potential numbers. He could take on the four, and possibly another if he caught them by surprise. Oren would probably help him if he saw Legolas in a bind. Still, that was only two against four, five, or maybe several more.

Legolas growled. If only he could be sure of the numbers, but he couldn't. In his mind, he knew it would be foolish to attack right now when the odds were likely against him. Hands flexed open and shut. Patience was the best strategy. The prince could follow the men and wait for a more opportune time to strike. If he was lucky enough, they might even lead him to where Estel was being held.

A torturous eternity passed as the elf waited for the four men to leave. Fifteen minutes later, the men stood and strolled out the door. Legolas rose from his chair and followed them.

Damp air greeted him when he exited the inn. A light fog coated the village. He glanced to his left but saw no sign of his targets. The sound of brisk footsteps on his right pointed him to two figures disappearing behind a corner of the building. _There they are._ The prince hastened after them.

In a matter of seconds, Legolas rounded the corner and entered a long dead-end alley. Only a bunch of busted crates inhabited the alley. Unease settled like a rock in the elf's gut. Wide eyes urgently sought out the men's hiding spots, but it was too late. Four pairs of hands shot out of the dark and grabbed him.

* * *

A/N: And the hunter becomes the hunted...

Please feel free to read and review!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tolkien, with exception of my OC's.

* * *

Aragorn braced himself as another sharp "crack" resounded. Pain exploded up and down his back. His blood mingled on the floor with the sweat from his interrogator. The ranger hissed as the whip fell on a particularly raw area. His bloodied fingers curled around a stone and squeezed it so tightly that it cut his palm.

His back arched, and another wave of white-hot agony engulfed him when the lash tore deeper into a throbbing laceration. Aragorn could not stop a small moan from escaping past his lips.

The black-haired man grinned slightly and applied the instrument to the exact area with greater force. His victim trembled involuntarily, much to his delight. Dark eyes glinted as the ranger tried in vain to move against the chains that bound him in place.

Biting his swollen lip, Aragorn laid his hot head on the cool floor. His breath came in short gasps, and his mind swirled with pain. He prayed for unconsciousness to swallow him quickly.

Gresit lowered the whip. He leaned down, "Ready to talk?"

Aragorn sighed heavily and forced his lips to work, "No."

"No?" The tormentor laughed. "You can't hold out forever."

"Watch me," the prisoner croaked.

Gresit struck the ranger hard across the face. "Oh, I will break you." He hauled the man up by his sweaty, blood matted hair. "Now, tell me what you know!"

Aragorn raised his eyes defiantly and vowed, "Never."

Before he knew what was happening, he was slammed into the stone floor. His ribs flared achingly. An iron grip wrapped around Aragorn's throat.

"I grow tired of your insolence." hissed Gresit as he tightened his crushing hold, cutting off his victim's airway.

His throat started to burn, and his lungs screamed for air. Darkness drowned the ranger's fading vision. The heavy chains prevented him from struggling. He was utterly helpless.

Gresit smirked with satisfaction while he watched his prisoner turn a sickly bluish-white, and his eyes close. The pulse beating against his palm slowed. A shiver of thrill passed through him, but his pleasure was short-lived. As much as he desired to end the ranger, he still hadn't extracted the information that his leader needed. He couldn't kill him, yet.

Snarling, Gresit gave a final squeeze and released his victim. Aragorn crashed onto the ground, coughing as he sucked gulps of air into his starved lungs. With a curse, the interrogator delivered a vicious kick to the prisoner's midsection.

The sharp kick sent an explosion of pain and a wave of nausea through Aragorn's battered body. The nausea was too much, and he retched. It was only dry heaves. His captors had fed him nothing the past couple of days, leaving his stomach empty.

The ranger's reprieve was brief. The cruel man wrapped his fingers in Aragorn's brown locks and picked him up. With his other hand, Gresit grabbed Aragorn's face in a bruising grip and drew it close to his own.

Gresit's hot breath tickled the ranger's ear like a snake's tongue, "You're weaker than you think. When I'm finished with you, you'll tell me everything." He paused with a twisted smile and dug his fingernails into his victim's skin for added effect. "Our next session will be our last. You'll either be alive at the end or dead. Personally, I hope it's the latter."

Gresit punched his prisoner and threw him to the floor. He then picked up his whip and walked out.

After the cell's door closed, Aragorn finally allowed a string of groans to pass from his lips. He laid there, just trying to breathe through the flames of pain that licked at him. As a healer, he could tell from the heat of his wounds that they were dangerously close to becoming infected. Infection would doom him. He doubted his body would have the strength to fight it off. Aragorn's head whirled. He needed help, soon.

His health wasn't the only reason he had to escape. Innocent lives were also in grave danger. There was no time to waste. He had to get free. The man gritted his teeth as he tried to slide the shackles off his wrists for the thousandth time. Sharp pangs shot from his wrists up his arms. The metal raked the tender skin on the wrists. A small cry tumbled out of his mouth. Yet, he kept trying.

Several minutes later, Aragorn lowered his hands and throbbing wrists in defeat. The chains clanked with his movements, mocking him. He yelled in frustration. There was nothing he could do unless he got free of his bonds, and he couldn't even do that. They were too tight. The only thing left for him to do was pray for a miracle.

* * *

The attack happened so fast. Legolas had no time to unleash his weapons. The men pinned his arms behind his back in the span of a second. It felt like a spider attacking him. The elf struggled to reach the twin blades on his sides, but the men's hold on his arms tightened with every jerk. The humans' positions made it impossible to reach his bow, let alone use it.

Refusing to give up, the prince flung his head back and crashed it into a sweaty head with a loud "smack." The pocked-face man uttered a surprised curse but maintained his grip. Growling, the elf moved to slam his head into the human on his left. The man hurled his fist into the prince's temple before Legolas could act though.

An eruption of pain radiated through his head, and stars danced before his eyes. Legolas' knees were swept out from under him. The air fled his lungs as four bodies toppled onto him to keep him from moving. Nevertheless, he stubbornly fought to free himself. One of the attackers jabbed his knee into the middle of the prince's spine, threatening to break bone. "Don't move, or you'll regret it."

Legolas stilled. The man with rust-colored hair produced a crude rope and started to bind him. As he lay there, the elf seethed with anger and frustration, directed mainly at himself. He was better than this. He should have been more aware, more careful. Now, he was in deep trouble thanks to his stupidity.

Suddenly, a thunderous voice pierced the fog. "Hey! What's going on here?"

They all looked up to see Oren in the alley's entrance, standing tall and terrible with his hunting knife in hand. The hunter's eyes darkened as fury boiled in their brown depths. Legolas could feel a shiver pass through his attackers. He suppressed a smirk as he heard one gulp in apprehension.

"Let him go!" Oren ordered, his voice dangerously low. The grip on his blade visibly tightened, and he stepped forward threateningly.

The color drained from the four assailants' faces. To Legolas' relief, they immediately stopped what they were doing, scurried onto their feet, and fled into the night's gloom. Oren let them pass as he hurried to the prince.

"Leian! Are you all right?" Oren questioned while his meaty hands worked to free Legolas of his bonds. In a flash, he finished untying his hands and bent to untie the ropes wrapped around his ankles.

The elf couldn't resist a small smile at Oren's concern for him. Rubbing his wrists, he responded, "I'm fine. I just took a minor blow to the head."

All trace of the intimidating figure who had challenged the ruffians melted away as the hunter fussed over Legolas, "Do you feel faint? Confused? Dizzy?"

Internally, Legolas chuckled. Oren was like a combination of Estel and his adar. "Really, Oren, I'm fine," he insisted with a reassuring hand on the human's shoulder.

Oren eyed him skeptically for a moment before nodding. "You're lucky then. You promised me you'd stay away from such men."

Legolas thought fast. He didn't want Oren to know he was following the men because it would only lead to more questions. "I didn't mean to get attacked. I had just left the inn and walked into this alley when those men waylaid me."

A muscle jerked in the human's jaw and a deep frown marred his face, "I see. The gall of men these days…" He shook his head with a distant look before he sighed, "Just be more careful, Leian."

"I will," the prince replied. "Oh, thank you for saving me."

"Glad I could assist you, my friend." The hunter rubbed his hands together, "It's cold for a spring night. Let's go back to the Pony where it's warm."

Together the pair walked back to the inn. Legolas kept a hand near his knife and scanned the area for signs of his attackers. He thought he heard several horses gallop away in the distance. If it was the four men, then he needed to follow them.

Toasty air greeted them as they entered through the weathered door. Oren started towards the nearest open seats, but the elf hesitated. He grabbed the hunter's shoulder, "Oren, wait. The hour grows late, and I still need to reach my friend. I'm afraid I can't delay any longer."

The man smiled, "Of course. I'm sorry I kept you so long."

"You did nothing of the sort," Legolas assured with a brush of his hand. He then held it out to the human. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome." Oren grinned and pulled him into an embrace, "Stay out of trouble, Leian. I won't be around to rescue you next time."

The prince nodded. The hunter dipped his head in return. Oren then ambled over to an open chair. Legolas remained near the doorway and studied the room's occupants. The cursory scan didn't yield Ahneus. _He must have left with the others,_ he surmised grimly.

He spotted Butterbur cleaning a table. Threading his way between tables and humans, Legolas came up to stand behind the innkeeper.

The jolly man jumped, "Oh! Sorry...I didn't see you there, Master, uh Master…"

"Leian."

"Oh, yes. Master Leian." He set the rag in his hand on the table, "How can I help you?"

"I need you to remember a message for me."

Beads of sweat emerged on Butterbur's forehead. "Hmm...what's the message?"

The elf leaned in close to the man, so their conversation wouldn't be overheard. "Strider is alive. He's been captured by a group of men. Their full numbers are unknown, but they traveled east. I will follow them. Be careful. The men are dangerous."

Finished with the message, Legolas asked, "Can you remember it?"

Barliman picked up the rag and wiped his red forehead. "Um, I'm afraid I'm not very good at remembering things, you see, Master Leian."

"Should I repeat the message?"

"Uh, I don't think that'll help. I tend to forget things, no matter how many times you repeat 'em."

"Please, it's a matter of life and death," the elf hissed, "You have to remember this."

The man gulped and shrugged his shoulders, "I...I'll try my best."

Legolas quirked an eyebrow. This wasn't going to work. "Do you have some parchment?"

"Let's see…" Barliman rummaged around in his pockets, "Oh, here's a piece."

He took the offered scrap of parchment. "Do you have anything to write with?"

"I don't, but I've something at my desk. Come, come, I'll get it for you."

The man moseyed over to the front of the inn, and the elf followed him. He produced ink and a quill, "Here you are, Master...Master..."

"Le...oh nevermind." Legolas quickly scribbled out his message. He folded it and handed it to the innkeeper. "If a group of elves or rangers come here, give them this message, please."

Barliman eyed him suspiciously but nodded anyway.

"Thank you." The prince gave the human a couple of coins. "Here, take this for your trouble."

Legolas then hurried out of the Prancing Pony and towards the stable. As he walked, he breathed in the crisp air to center himself. It was important that he remain focused and calm, especially now that he was onto the captors' trail. After a few deep breaths, the elf felt better and his eyes glinted like steel in the moonlight.

Mithelen whinnied happily when her master entered her stall unharmed. The elf rolled his eyes at her, "Don't act so surprised to see me in one piece. I can survive an hour away from your side, you know."

The mare simply gave him a look, and Legolas flashed her a mischievous grin in retort. Mithelen huffed with a shake of her head.

Swinging into the saddle, he sobered and whispered. "I found news on Aragorn. He's being held prisoner by some men. We're going to follow them in hopes they will lead us to him."

They exited the stable, but the elf stopped beside the stable boy sitting outside the doors. He leaned down and addressed him, "Did you see four or five men leave here earlier? One of them had red hair." The boy nodded his shaggy dark head. "Which way did they go?"

"That way," the stable boy mumbled, pointing his finger towards the east.

"Thank you. You've been most helpful," replied the prince, dropping a tip into the boy's calloused hand. Happiness shone in the boy's hazel eyes as they watched the gray mare and her rider canter off into the darkness.

* * *

Almost two days of relentless tracking led them deep into the wilderness. Legolas halted Mithelen next to an old oak. He placed his hand on its rough bark and closed his eyes. The tree rumbled. Several nearby trees grunted back in response, their branches shaking and gesturing.

He nodded. Mithelen looked at her master questioningly. "There's a cave up ahead. The trees say the men stopped there," Legolas said as he patted the tree in thanks.

The elf then climbed down from the saddle and rummaged through his supplies. He extracted a healing kit, food and water, and the ranger's spare clothes. Legolas had changed back into his own clothing after leaving Bree, figuring there was no need to keep up the disguise.

His mare watched while he crammed all of the articles into a bag. The archer mentally went over a list of all the items he or Aragorn might require during the rescue attempt. "Valar, I hope I have everything," he muttered.

Shrugging, Legolas closed the bag and situated it firmly on his shoulder. His trusty bow, arrows, and knives were already strapped to his back. "All is ready," Legolas breathed. "I just hope I'm not too late."

The horse nuzzled the prince. He curled his fingers into her mane. "So much time has passed since he went missing. And those...those yrch are torturing him. Ai! What if they've killed him, Mithelen?" Legolas sighed shakily. Experience from countless years of battle and many rescue attempts left him with no illusions of what he might find.

She shook her head and lifted the elf's chin with her nose. He smiled, "You're right, mellon nin, hope's not lost yet. Aragorn will not give up easily, so neither will I."

The elf unslung his bow and walked in the direction the trees had pointed. Mithelen trotted behind him. He turned and stopped her with a gentle hand. "No, Mithelen. I must go alone. Stay here, and get some rest. I'll need you strong enough to bear us away when we return."

The mare's eyes brimmed with worry, and her ears deflated. Legolas scratched them affectionately. A playful gleam shimmered in his eyes. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about. You're under strict orders not to do anything rash while I'm gone."

As he expected, Mithelen snorted indignantly. They both knew who the real troublemaker was. But, Legolas did not give Mithelen a chance to retaliate. Nimbly, he leaped into a nearby tree branch and raced through the trees to his destination.

The setting sun's dark orange rays bathed him a reddish glow. It was almost appropriate, for blood would be spilled that night.

* * *

Will he be too late?

I'd love to hear your thoughts in a review!

~ M.B.


End file.
